


Belonging At Hogwarts

by MurasakiNeko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pottermore, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurasakiNeko/pseuds/MurasakiNeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his third year at Hogwarts, Remus Lupin makes a dangerous error during full moon. His father reminds him of what he has to lose; his friends have a plan to make sure he doesn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10154422/1/Belonging-At-Hogwarts

It was a beautiful day for the third Quidditch match of the season. Late November had brought long days of cold, dreary rain—snow would not be long to follow—but this particular morning had broken so clear and bright even the characteristic mist of the Forbidden Forest seemed subdued. Although in the high latitudes of Scotland the bright foliage of high autumn had long passed and the trees were bare and grey, the sun in a cloudless sky gave the day an unseasonable warmth. It was a comfortable walk out to the pitch and Remus loosened his scarf and let his cloak open to the breeze and he hadn’t been able to since mid-October. Climbing up and settling into his tight seat between Sirius and Peter in the highest point in the Gryffindor stands, all the better for James to spot them from out on the pitch, their scarves and hair blew wildly in the late autumn wind that blew briskly from off of the lake despite the sun. The stands were alive with chatter and high spirits for this perfect day for the most anticipated match of the season.

Or what would be a perfect day, if it weren’t for the full moon.

The Quidditch schedule for their third year had been decided early in September, and Remus’s heart had fallen as soon as he realized one of the dates conflicted with his own most important schedule, the nights he would spend in the Shrieking Shack. At first he was certain he was doomed to miss it entirely, but James, Sirius, and Peter had all assured him that there was no use missing a match in early afternoon for the sake of something at moonrise. As she did every month, Madam Pomfrey consulted several astronomy charts to determine sunset and moonrise and thus the earliest possible time he might transform. Accounting for the time it would take to change and make their way safely to the Shrieking Shack, Remus was due to meet her in the hospital wing at 3:00. He might have to leave early, but not if it was a quick match. The unseasonably pleasant weather made him optimistic luck would be on his side.

And the match was not one to miss. Not only was it the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry match, but it was Slytherin’s first match of the season and the debut of their new Seeker. Regulus Black had been selected for the Slytherin team at their fall term tryouts, his very first opportunity to audition-- which had apparently been quite the shock for Sirius, who was not accustomed to thinking of him as especially good at anything besides sucking up to their parents. Having been present for breakfast in the Great Hall when Regulus received the newest model of Cleansweep sent by their parents in congratulations had not improved matters.

“Oh Merlin, he looks ridiculous,” Sirius snorted as Regulus flew out onto he pitch with his team.

Remus didn’t see how he looked any more or less ridiculous than any other young player who had yet to grow into his uniform, especially since Seekers in general tended to look a little undersized for their gear, being so small and lightweight. So he just teased: “Oh come now, aren’t you _proud_ of your brother in his first match?” 

“I hope he gets knocked in the face by a Bludger and breaks his nose,” Sirius sniffed. “That’d fix that stupid sneer on his face.” He tossed his hair a little, ironically making his own sneer that given their genetics was identical to Regulus’s. Although Sirius’s looks were unthreatened by Regulus’s, his younger brother’s apparent athletic talent clearly made him a little insecure.   

Unfortunately, the Gryffindor team also had a young new Seeker, their former Seeker and team captain having graduated the year before. Although she was adroit enough on her broom, she was still untested, and in Gryffindor’s only match so far this year the Snitch had gone to Ravenclaw. As the Gryffindor team entered, she sized up Regulus carefully but didn’t seem too intimidated. Nonetheless James swooped by to give her a reassuring brotherly pat on the back.

Remus jittered his right leg impatiently as he waited for Madam Hooch to give the starting signal; the longer it took to start, the more likely he was to miss some of it. But the rest of the pitch was no less impatient and neither was Madam Hooch, so thankfully the match began without delay—and with quite a dramatic start. Through all of fall term James had spoken ad nauseum on the training of the Chaser team that year, the drills and formations they had practiced and the strategic combinations they had memorized. Remus’s head had spun trying to keep up with his discussion of theory, but it was clear from what he saw on the pitch that their work had paid off. The three of them moved in unison like an airplane formation or tiny flock of geese, the Quaffle flowing from one pair of hands to another, always just in time before an incoming Bludger or block maneuver from one of the Slytherin Chasers. Gryffindor offense was running circles around the rest.

The Slytherins simply could not keep up. The aggressive pursuit of personal glory made each individual member of the Slytherin team a formidable force in his craft, but the team fell apart so far as collaboration was involved. The Beaters did not coordinate with the Keeper in defending the Slytherin goal posts, and the Chasers were too hell-bent on making their own goals that they did not pass when it would have been beneficial and were continuously intercepted, failing to make even a single goal.

After his fifth personal goal, James sailed over the Gryffindor stand, running his fingers through his hair and blowing a kiss to a row of ladies. A few of them sighed and giggled, but Remus heard one very distinctive groan he immediately traced to Lily Evans. 

Remus smiled at the current lopsided score of 120 to 0. “At this rate, it won’t be long before they call the game for Gryffindor due to an impenetrable lead,” he mused, glad that he could leave for the Shack in time knowing that Gryffindor had won. The sun was already noticeably lower than it had been; the days passed quickly given their altitude and the approach of the solstice.

“They won’t though, mate,” Sirius furrowed his eyebrows as if to question Remus’s legitimacy as a Quidditch fan. Truly, Remus hadn’t watched much Quidditch before coming to Hogwarts; his mother was the sports fan in the family and she preferred Cardiff football. “It’s not over until the Snitch is caught. Gryffindor could be a thousand points ahead and they won’t call it until someone has the Snitch in hand.”

Remus frowned; why couldn’t wizards play something with a proper time limit? Surely both Seekers were hunting their hardest at this stage in the game, but as both were untried second years barely three months into their first season, it was anyone’s guess when they would succeed.

Then, as if to make things worse on purpose, Slytherin scored their first goal. Sirius and Peter groaned. Remus, however, squinted nervously at the horizon behind the Forbidden Forest. “Err, that’s not the moon rising over there already, is it?”   
“Is it?” Sirius crinkled his nose and squinted for a moment. “Nah, mate, that’s just a reflection on the lake or something.”   
The match continued; with the first goal won, Slytherin gained confidence and began fighting harder at their defense. They were getting the hang of the Gryffindor Chasers’ preferred tactics. The next three Gryffindor goal attempts were all blocked by their Keeper and in one case averted by a Bludger-- and Slytherin scored another goal.

Remus started jittering his leg again. Although the match had sped on at record pace in the beginning, Slytherin’s fight back made him aware of the time again. How many minutes had passed already? 15? 20? 25? How much longer did he have until 3:00? 

Gryffindor finally made another goal, breaking the brief Slytherin spell. Still, there was no guarantee of a quick end to the match; it could volley on back and forth all night, set to the dulcet tones of Remus’s howls far off in the distance—assuming he made it there. Remus watched nervously for the Gryffindor Seeker; she would be the quickest, most merciful end to the match. However, she was hovering high above the action on the pitch, searching but clearly not seeing anything. Remus didn’t have the intimate Quidditch knowledge to back it up, but he found himself internally scolding her for some imagined theory that the Snitch would hover closer to the action.

However, she was apparently more attentive than Regulus, who as Gryffindor scored yet another goal was too busy watching in outrage to attend to a Bludger whizzing his way. He heard the tell-tale whistle just a moment before it was too late, panicking and plunging several meters downward and zig-zagging unsteadily before coming to a stop. Sirius let out a merciless “HA!” so loud that Remus wondered if he intended his brother to hear all the way out on the pitch. He probably did.   
However, the Bludger may or may not have been purposely directed by one of his teammates, as became apparent when one of the Slytherin Beaters flew close past Regulus, shaking her club at him. Although in the Gryffindor stands they could not make out what she was shouting, it was obvious the Slytherins were putting the pressure on Regulus to save the match. Their failure to boost their own score meant it was all up to him.

“Not very team-like of them,” Remus mused.

“You can see their entire strategy fall apart once they start losing,” Sirius grinned. “The sorest losers that ever there were. I couldn’t enjoy watching it more.”

Just then, one of the Gryffindor Chasers scored again, bringing the score to 160-20.

“Just one more goal and even the Snitch won’t save Slytherin,” Remus whispered giddily, shifting his weight from foot to foot in preparation for his quick exit once this transpired.

“But it’s not over until the Snitch is caught,” Sirius repeated, vigorously shaking Remus’s wrist, too caught up in the excitement of the match for Remus’s predicament to weigh much on his mind. That responsibility was Remus’s. He looked to the descending sun, trying to work out whether the light was already becoming dusky or if it was just the panic in his mind.   
Gryffindor scored twice more in succession. After scoring the second goal, James made a show of a hands-free victory dance on his broomstick, earning a friendly shout of “Don’t get too cocky, Potter!” from Lily in the stands. James exaggerated his dance a little more. Remus wished he were in the mood for dancing; instead, the only moving part of him was his rapidly-beating heart and an odd trembling sensation in his stomach. If he had to question it, he was certain he must be running late by now—if he hadn’t missed the 3:00 deadline entirely. If he had, would Madam Pomfrey come get him? Would she owl one of the professors attending the match? Or perhaps him personally; an emergency Howler at the Quidditch pitch?

The Slytherin Beaters were now out in full force, knowing their team’s best option was aggressive defense until Regulus could end the match. Given their impeccable aim with the clubs, if Slytherins weren’t by definition from pureblood wizard families and thus categorically opposed to Muggle sport, Remus might have wondered if they had trained as cricket or baseball players.

What happened next was the first maneuver to properly distract him since the start of the match. With the Beaters smacking Bludgers after them the Gryffindor Chasers were forced to pass again and again so as not to get knocked from their broom and possession of the Quaffle. James, who was still closest to the hoops after his latest goal, seized the Quaffle from a pass just as his teammate was knocked about 10 meters downward to evade a Bludger. But there was no relief as the eyes of the Slytherin Beater nearest him narrowed as she whaled her club into the same Bludger, sending it sailing with a crack as loud as a cricket bat.

The Bludger hurtled towards James, whose eyes widened as he realized he couldn’t fend off with his hands, but he had no teammate readily available to accept a pass. Instead, he squeezed his broomstick tightly between his legs and let himself fall to the side, dropping beneath his broom and missing the Bludger by inches—they could practically hear the whistle roaring in his ears as it sailed past-- then, upside-down and without a moment to waste, sent the Quaffle sailing through the middle hoop. Sirius screamed like a girl and practically jumped into Remus’s arms, nearly knocking Remus over as all the muscles in his body had gone slack in shock. Peter looked on the verge of weeping at this heroism. It was the most miraculous evasion + score combo any of them had ever seen on the Hogwarts pitch, and it was all James.

However, it was the Slytherin stands that let out the loudest cheer, and everyone turned their heads to see why: at the other end of the pitch Regulus had flung his fist high into the air, the tell-tale glint of gold visible between his fingers. Slytherin had caught the Snitch!

There was mass chaos for a moment as no one knew whether James had made the goal in time. However, Madam Hooch flew up through the chaos, blasting her whistle, and gestured to the red and gold.

“POINT TO POTTER!” Remus, Sirius, and Peter cheered in union, throwing their arms up in the air and waving vigorously. James spotted them and did another barrel-roll just for their benefit as they laughed and whistled.

It would be a post-game like no other, the closest match any of them had ever seen with Slytherin bitterly defeated and James the hero of the day—but Remus _had_ to go. He ducked around the members of the now swarming box and whirled down the narrow spiral stairs-- which he hoped was the reason for the rising sick in his stomach, and not anything more sinister.   
He’d never walked between the castle and the Quidditch pitch under any circumstances other than beside his friends leisurely making their way to and from the castle for matches, so he never realized what a task it was to run the entire way. The November afternoon was cooling rapidly and the frigid air wove crackling webs of saliva across the inside of the throat, and his nose began to run and he had nothing to wipe it with except his own sleeve. After sprinting halfway he nearly collapsed and was forced to take the rest at a brisk sort of limp. By the time he reached the castle his legs were like jelly, and he still had a few staircases to climb.

Praying that the itching on his arms, legs, and back was sweat and not the beginning of the lupine hair that sprouted all over his body during transformation, Remus burst into the hospital wing. There were only a couple of unfortunate students missing the game to convalesce in the recovery room.  Madam Pomfrey, standing at the window with an eye on the clock, whirled around at the sound of his feet on the stone floor. “Where were you?” she hissed, clearly angry but beholden to her duty to his protect his secret. She kept her voice low. “I was just about to send an emergency owl to McGonagall at the Quidditch match. What kept you?”

“Sorry . . . sorry . . . I was at the match . . . lost track of time,” Remus panted.

“I should say so! You were meant to be in the Shack nearly an hour ago! Now quick—out of those clothes!”

She whisked him behind the curtain of one of the back examining rooms along with the change of old clothes he kept in hospital wing. As a wolf he shed his clothes, but he needed something in which to walk to the Shack and back, something that didn’t matter if it was shredded overnight. He pulled off his jumper, shirt, and vest in one piece and hurriedly threw on the pajama-sized shirt and trousers his parents had sent from a secondhand shop for the purpose.

As Madam Pomfrey reached back for the threadworn cloak he had kept in her closet since first year, Remus _thought_ he had to sneeze-- until the sneeze turned into a long, grisly wheeze that hunched him over into an all-too-familiar position, like a cat about to vomit: the position he was forced into in the moments just before his jaw lengthened and hair began to sprout. His human consciousness still intact enough to be horrified, he curled over in preparation for transformation, as if the fetal position would protect others from him. However, as the moonlight in the hospital wing was virtually nonexistent, nothing happened. Feeling all the blood rush back out of his head again and leave him feeling dizzy, he sighed and stood upright. 

When he looked up, Madam Pomfrey had put a distance of about a meter between them and her wand was out. Remus’s fear turned to nausea at the sight of the terror in her eyes. She recovered her composure after a half second and came forward calmly again with the cloak, but Remus could not ignore that her first instinct had been terror. 

“Let’s not waste any more time,” she said, endeavoring to remain calm but unable to mask her fear. Remus nodded, unable to push words past the lump in his throat. She pushed him ahead of her as they briskly made their way through the hospital emergency passages of the castle and down on the grounds towards the Whomping Willow. On the other side of the campus Remus could see vague movement in the dusky distance, a flow of students still straggling back to the castle after the match, but it was solidly twilight by now and they had no time to worry about being seen. By the time they reached the tree, Remus’s legs were numb and felt as if they had turned to mush from all of the near-running. But they made it in time. 

Once the passage was safely sealed behind him, Remus’s breathing and heart rate relaxed. Now there was nothing but the dim quiet of the Shack and the long night ahead. It was almost disappointing, to have been in such a rush only to sit and wait. Not that he was in a hurry, of course. 

With a dramatic sigh—there was no one around to hear him, after all—he fell backwards onto the bed. The frame creaked and the springs bowed beneath his weight, no spring left in them at all. The mattress smelled musty and was fitted only with a bottom sheet displaying several now-brown vestiges of difficult full moons past. It was hardly the thing to put him in a relaxed state of mind, but Remus wasn’t about to complain, as it was generous for him to have been allowed a bed at all. Remus had trained himself to nap as soon as he was horizontal on this mattress since he would get precious little sleep the rest of the night, so he closed his eyes in anticipation for the short but sweet descent into dreams. 

However, just as his consciousness was beginning to slip away, his stomach seized up and he sat bolt upright. He hunched over again, clutching his stomach which had begun to quiver with the burgeoning transformation. His skin began to crawl as thick, bestial hair sprouted from his pores. His vision blurred and briefly blacked out entirely as his face changed from human to a lengthy jaw of sharp teeth. The unbearable pain made him vomit once and then begin to scream, anguished screams that echoed in his own ears they became howls as his vocal cords warped and his mouth turned canine.

During the waning moments of human lucidity as he transformed, he observed that the light through the slats had barely changed since he had arrived. It couldn’t have been more than a half-hour since he’d been back in the hospital wing, mere minutes since he had been in the company of Madam Pomfrey and within bolting distance of the parade of students leaving the Quidditch pitch.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end the night was uneventful, as far as full moons went. It was a cloudy night with some gentle rain and little of the harsh direct moonlight that especially aggravated his symptoms and drove him desperately to hunt, but nevertheless his wolf form was hungry and “gently” gnawed at himself for much of the night.

Remus’s memory did not work as normal during this time, but when the moon had set and the beams of full daylight forced their way between the slats of wood blocking the windows of the Shrieking Shack, Remus woke to human consciousness and the inevitable aches, bruises, and scratches-- though luckily no deep cuts or fractures. There were bite marks on his arms and swallow scratches on his leg, probably from falling against the rough wood walls of the Shack during transformation, but nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix with a little standard disinfecting potion and a Cushioning Charm.

Madam Pomfrey came to unseal the door mid-morning, a couple hours’ grace after moonset and the break of day. She was less cheerful than usual and seemed tired. Still, according to procedure she gave him the full inspection; after retrieving him from the Shack, she led him discreetly through the emergency passages of the school and tucked him once again into an examination cubicle in the hospital wing, well out of view from the general recovery room. Once he changed into the gown she handed him, she joined him behind the curtain to check the surface of his skin and run her wand over his limbs to detect any hairline fractures and correct them as necessary. In his first year Remus had been embarrassed by this intimate and sometimes invasive procedure, but after more than 20 full moons at Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey’s sense of calm and clinical thoroughness gave him a sense of security. Every step was specifically designed to ensure maximum secrecy and health post-transformation. And he was grateful; after all, how many times had she caught and treated wounds he would have never noticed until they became painfully infected? The full moons themselves were as unpleasant as always, but since coming to Hogwarts he had noticed the aftereffects were never as bad.

Finally, she handed him a small cup of Invigoration Draught to boost his energy. “Drink,” she commanded. As he did, she reminded him: “You’re welcome to shave at the sink; just clear everything out of the drain when you’re done, please. Merlin knows I’ll be glad when you decide you’re old enough to have a beard.”

Maintaining a discreet human appearance was as much a part of re-entry as the medical examination. The effects of lycanthropy on Remus’s human form mimicked testosterone as he entered puberty; he had a low voice and thick body hair well before he ever boarded the Hogwarts Express. _Excessive_ body hair, thought Remus, who was self-conscious about how thick it was. While by now some of his classmates were beginning to sport fuzzy shadows on their chins, Remus was the only third year capable of growing a full beard. Paranoid of anything that made him stand out in a lupine way, he accepted the offer, took up the razor, and set to work removing the centimeter of growth that had accumulated in the Shack.

Remus was vaguely aware of some hurried footsteps coming from the doors, but figured it was just someone coming to announce another uncommon accident amongst the Hogwarts population. However, when Mdm Pomfrey stepped out into the recovery room to meet the messenger, Remus heard the cheerful voice of Lily Evans explain, “McGonagall sent me to fetch Remus Lupin. She said he was here?” 

Remus’s stomach fell. McGonagall wanted to see him, and he was reasonably certain he knew why. And what did he expect? He was sometimes surprised by how much could transpire in the 18 hours or so he spent in the Shack, but most of the time he returned to a world exactly as he left it, with the same consequences waiting for him. 18 hours was plenty of time for his Head of House and Madam Pomfrey to have had a lengthy chat about his failure to meet their established deadline for safe passage to the Shack.

Remus quickly unfolded the neat bundle of clothes Madam Pomfrey had brought into the examination room, pulling on yesterday’s shirt, jumper, and trousers. They still smelled of the autumn air from yesterday, though not without a musky dose of body odor thanks to his grueling run. He noticed the sleeve he had been holding to his running nose had some crusty substance on it—he could guess what—and with a grimace he tried to rub it off on his pants before emerging from the examination cubicle.

He walked slowly towards the two women and Lily’s fell on Remus and brightened in understanding. _Oh, you ARE here!_ Remus hoped she didn’t dwell on this too much. He liked Lily and admired her intelligence, but not when it risked her discovering his secrets.

“Where does she want to meet me?” he asked, revealing he had already heard. Lily should know that much, although he hoped that she didn’t know _why_.

“She said to meet her in her office, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower,” she explained. “She just said to come as soon as I found you.”

Remus looked to Madam Pomfrey if this was possible. She conceded with a nod. “You need nothing more from me here. But I want you to take a shower when you’re done speaking with her, and really scrub to make sure those scrapes on your legs aren’t infected. Doctor’s orders.”

“Are you alright?” Lily asked as they walked together towards the doors, clearly curious as to why she had needed to collect him from the hospital wing.

Thanks to Madam Pomfrey she already knew about his legs, so he quickly lied. “Oh, when everybody was rushing down to celebration the win last night, I lost my footing on the stairs—tore my trousers a little and everything,” he lowered his voice and winced for realism. “This morning it didn’t look so good, like maybe it was infected, so I had Madam Pomfrey look at it.” He’d grown so accustomed to lying about the full moon that he kept a straight face and didn’t even feel an ounce of guilt for it anymore. He spent so much time preparing potential explanations for concerned classmates, tactically spacing them out so he didn’t repeat similar excuses too close in succession, that it was more like reciting a script than anything else. Anyone would be shocked to know he had years’ worth of distant relatives’ sudden illness and deaths planned in his mind.

Lily’s large green eyes showed sympathy, but she also gave him a cheeky grin. “So is _that_ why they call you Moony, then?” she asked. Remus hoped nothing in face gave away his surprise; James, Sirius, and Peter really could be more discreet about his nickname. “Maybe you ought to start buying larger trousers if you’re bursting them open so easily.”

Remus couldn’t think of anything clever to say in response and only laughed. James was better at keeping up with her, though their conversations inevitably escalated into outright argument. It was strange the dramatic effect they had on each other.   
Lily took her leave back towards Gryffindor tower, no doubt having plans for her Sunday. Remus, however, could focus on nothing but the conversation awaiting him as he took the steps to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, rehearsing the possibilities of how it might go.

“I’m very sorry Professor; I completely lost track of time!”—oh, it sounded awfully irresponsible and it wasn’t entirely true . . .  
“I _was_ watching the time, but I thought the match would be finished by 3:00”—no, that was _worse_ , as if he’d deliberately ignored his instructions.  
He still hadn’t settled on his defense by the time he pushed open the heavy oak door to Professor’s McGonagall’s study, and saw something that knocked all the words out of his head anyway. Sitting at McGonagall’s desk, just to her left, was his father.

Remus was startled to see him, though in his heart of hearts he was not truly surprised. 18 hours was plenty of time not only for Madam Pomfrey to speak to McGonagall, but for her to have sent an owl to his parents and received his father’s reply requesting an approved visit via Floo. His father would want to be informed and involved in something like this. He had spent more than a decade the sole charge of Remus’s safe concealment during transformation and even now he still felt responsible. He also looked very angry.

Adrenaline flooded Remus’s veins and the sudden jump in his heart rate made him feel lightheaded. His blood pressure and blood sugar were clearly low, since he had had nothing to eat since lunch on Saturday; the bits of his own flesh and blood he ingested in the Shack didn’t count. He approached the near side of the desk slowly, keeping his hands demurely behind his back.

“Please have a seat, Remus,” McGonagall instructed, gesturing to the wooden chair before it. There was no particular anger or disappointment in her manner, but with his father beside her Remus felt anything but steady. He was grateful to sit, although in some deep recesses of his mind he was nervous about not being able to flee readily.

“Madam Pomfrey told us you failed to meet the deadline she set for safe passage to the Shrieking Shack last night,” McGonagall said calmly.

“Yes, I did,” he said quietly, heart hammering against his chest. “But it-- it won’t happen again. I’m very sorry.” It came out sounding trite, but he truly meant it.

His father’s eyes were boring hard into him, looking unconvinced by this apology. “And why on earth, with _months_ advance planning, did you run late?"

Remus’s eyes darted slightly to McGonagall, as if there were some chance she might defend him. She would appreciate the importance of yesterday’s match, wouldn’t she? “There was a Quidditch match in the afternoon,” he explained. “It went on longer than I thought it would.”

“And seeing the end of the Quidditch match was more important than getting to the Shrieking Shack in time?” 

“I lost track of time; I didn’t realize I was running late.”

“You didn’t bring a watch with you to the pitch?”

“No,” he replied, feeling stupid. Moving in unison with his friends, he never thought to wear a watch. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wound the one he had. 

“And you didn’t think to overestimate the time you’d need to make to the Shack in time? Or perhaps forgo the match for the sake of safety to begin with?”

Remus paused before saying “no,” again, feeling more miserable by the moment.

McGonagall chimed in before Remus’s father could continue. “I don’t think anyone is arguing that Remus was acting responsibly,” she said. It was almost as if she were scolding Remus’s father for pressing him too hard, though he felt too ashamed of himself to readily accept her solidarity. “Which is why we’re all here.”

She turned her attention to Remus, picking up a quill in order to make her record. The actions were understood; there was nothing more to discuss than the consequences. “No House Points will be deducted, as we agreed from the beginning about anything related to monthly transformations, since it will make the other students curious,” McGonagall reviewed. “But Madam Pomfrey will be expecting you for detention every night this week.”

Remus hadn’t been, but James and Sirius had served detentions scrubbing bedpans and ironing sheets for hexing students with bizarre ailments and other infractions that inconvenienced the hospital wing. Remus had inconvenienced Madam Pomfrey as well-- if that wasn’t putting it too lightly. Whatever she thought of Remus’s situation, McGonagall’s punishments were fair and fit the crime and she meted them out with cool rationality as if they were a business transaction.

“Yes, Professor,” he agreed. Surely it was the least he deserved.

His father apparently thought so, too. He piped up, his voice much less cool and calm. “And no more Quidditch matches for him this year, Professor.” He spoke to McGonagall but kept his eyes fixed on Remus, glowing with a furious intensity that instinctively made Remus both uncomfortable as well as a little irritated. He’d merely run late, after all; one time in more than twenty! But then his father continued: “And I’m revoking my permission for him to visit Hogsmeade. Maybe then he’ll have less opportunity to run late and plenty of time to prepare for full moon on time.” 

Remus panicked. “For the whole year?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Truly, there were no more Quidditch games or Hogsmeade visits until after Christmas, but to yank away all of the spring and summer term, the rest of his third year, 1/7th of his entire Hogwarts career with one fell swoop . . .     

“We’ll discuss in the summer about next year in light of how you do from now on,” his father replied with finality. So there wasn’t even the question of a reduced sentence, just the possibility of it carrying on even longer. 

“But the other Quidditch matches and Hogsmeade outings aren’t anywhere near full moon!” Remus pleaded. His father didn’t sound open to argument but all he could think of was how happy he had been at Quidditch matches and his first Hogsmeade outing, how _normal_ , to explore and laugh in public with his friends who knew his every secret and loved him nonetheless, to cheer with the vast group of Gryffindors that embraced him as their own. It had taken him so long to find that happiness, acceptance, and normalcy; to lose it, to return to even an echoing memory of those dark years of loneliness before he had come to Hogwarts, was too much to bear. “This was just one time. There might not even be the _chance_ of it being a problem again.”

“There _won’t_ be a chance of it being a problem again. We’re making sure of that.” 

“But what am I supposed to even _do_ if I can’t leave the castle and there’s no full moon for weeks?” His voice came out as a childish whine. He was being petulant but he couldn’t stop himself.

His father raised his eyebrows testily but his voice was calm. “You can use the time to get ahead for what you might fall behind during the next moon. You were responsible the past two years when you weren’t preoccupied with so many extra things.” Of course, any “extra things” had not been a problem because they had not coincided with the full moon, nor would they likely again, but Remus held his tongue this time. “You can start preparing for your OWLs and better your chances for the best NEWT courses, and perhaps do a little better in your class ranking.”

_ That _ stung; with two years to go before OWLs Remus was already safely in the top ten of his class and his marks were nothing to be ashamed of. He already spent far more time with his books than the rest of his friends. Did his father really think that a few hours off for the full moon and Quidditch was what kept him from pulling ahead of the phenomenal natural talents of James, Sirius, Lily, and (he hated to admit it, but there was no denying his gifts) Severus Snape? “It’s not fair,” he muttered, frowning self-pityingly down into his lap.

It was not the right thing to say.

“Remus,” his father’s voice was sharp and cut like a knife through the dry, cold air of the chamber, startling Remus into looking up again. The only thing sharper was his father’s steely gaze, boring so hard into him Remus was honestly surprised he wasn’t being hexed. “I should not have to remind you that you are here solely at the discretion of the Headmaster and your Head of House, as well as your mother and me. You are here to receive your education, a _privilege_ extended to you by the gracious exceptions made by Albus Dumbedore and the school staff, on the _condition_ that your condition remains concealed. And now you want to argue with us on ‘fairness’ as if these rules weren’t the only thing that allows you to attend Hogwarts at all? I’m shocked at how ungrateful you sound, and I can’t think that Professor McGonagall is terribly impressed by this behavior from one of her Gryffindors. This isn’t just a matter of having run late, or even having disobeyed. You know the consequences if someone were to discover you.”

As his father itemized the terms of his enrollment and the stakes he had to lose, so harshly and unapologetically and in front of McGonagall, Remus experienced a psychological sensation not unlike his clothes being torn from him one by one, as if to leave him completely exposed before the two of them. This was perhaps no coincidence considering the stories his father had passed to him since he was young, not just hearsay but legitimate reports from the Prophet, of werewolves captured and detained by villagers until they transformed back into humans—unclothed at that point-- at which point they were seldom freed or turned over to authorities without being subjected to some “revenge” torment upon their weaker human form. Recent legislation had categorized lycanthropic humans captured in their wolf form under the same legal classification as transformed werewolves-- as _beasts_ , subject to animal rather than wizard law—and wizards mobs were all too happy to accept the lesser, less inconstantly enforced charges of animal cruelty over assault. A werewolf’s greatest fear, to be _revealed_ , included not only the change in legal status and social ostracism, but a potential for dehumanizing torture. And that was what he risked when he made a mistake. His father had seen to it he lose some of his favorite privileges, but he still had his place at Hogwarts and the acceptance of Dumbledore and McGonagall, and his friends, even if he couldn’t accompany them on outings. The ministry didn’t keep a formal watch on him and no strangers that might want to harm him had any idea. He wasn’t forced to be anonymous and constantly on the run. He still had so much left to lose.

By then it felt offensive to even breathe, so Remus sucked in his breath quietly. “Yes, sir,” he agreed softly, casting his eyes downward again.

However, his father wasn’t finished. “What shocks me the most is you didn’t consider the danger to anyone else. You put Madam Pomfrey in clear danger. Even more shocking, you put your _friends_ in danger. You fret about not getting to spend time with them, but then treat their lives so carelessly?” 

Of course Remus had only stayed at the pitch so long in hopes of seeing the end of the match. But his father had a point; as he pushed his luck, his primary concern was upsetting Madam Pomfrey and getting in trouble. He’d barely considered the safety of the throngs of students in the stands, not even Peter or Sirius.

“Now, maybe as a werewolf yourself you don’t think that would be so bad, giving your friends the bite,” his father continued coldly. Remus became even more keenly aware that he was the sole werewolf in the room. It seemed even his most sympathetic allies seemed to have a point at which they could no longer empathize, when they presumed intentions where he had none, or expected control from him he had no ability to exert. Did he truly believe Remus would transform his friends to join him if he could? A fate he would never wish on _anyone_? If Fenrir Greyback himself were no longer a werewolf Remus would hesitate to bite even him. “But remember too that you have the ability to kill. And not cleanly, as you would as a wizard, but brutally, as a wild animal, with much blood and pain and suffering—and it would be completely beyond your control. Think about that when you want to spare a few extra minutes with your friends instead of getting to the Shack in safe time. Think about the death you would subject them to.” 

Remus thought of the carnage he had once seen when a feral cat found the nest of a family of bush-dwelling birds near one of the many homes he had grown up in. The distorted bodies and splashes of blood, dismembered beaks and scattered feathers. He had never seen himself as a wolf-- even in the presence of a mirror, his wolf form did not have the self-awareness to interpret what it saw—but he had spilled enough of his own blood and been through enough overnight stays in the hospital wing, reeling from the effects of Skele-Gro, to have a sense of his physical power. His friends would be no stronger than the birds before the cat. Athletic James, tall lean Sirius, and plump, stocky Peter; their adolescent human bones would all snap like twigs in his lupine jaws. The image his father conjured left him feeling the worst he had ever felt, numb and terrified, as if he actually _had_ committed murder.

Remus nodded, his throat tight, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears. Finally he mustered another quiet, “Yes, sir.”   
His father sighed—not a sigh of anger, but of sadness and disappointment. Glad though he was the lecture was over, this didn’t make Remus feel any better. Rather, he throbbed with guilt, not only for what his father had spoken of but for having made it necessary for him to come all the way ought to Hogwarts to discipline him as well. A father would want news from school about high marks and accomplishments, not the knowledge his son was inches away from murderous rampage.

Finally, his father rose and came around the desk, putting a hand on Remus’s shoulder. It was a loving and reassuring touch, but a firm one.  “Your mother sends her love,” he said, and then turned towards the small casket of Floo powder on McGonagall’s mantle.

Remus and McGonagall watched until he had disappeared, then McGonagall rose, collecting some papers, and Remus was sure he detected a flash of sympathy in her eyes. However, by the time she spoke her face was neutral and for this Remus was grateful; he had a terrifying feeling if she showed too much emotion, he would not be able to hold back his tears any longer.   
  
“Your first detention with Madam Pomfrey will be tonight at 7:30,” she reminded him. With his father’s words still echoing in the chamber there was really no more she could say.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warning for brief mention of suicide ideation.

Slowly descending from McGonagall’s office and then back up to Gryffindor Tower, Remus was thoroughly exhausted in both body and soul. He kept his face hard through the common room but no sooner than he shut the door to the empty dormitory than the tears spilled free.

He collapsed onto his bed and wept deeply and bitterly until his red Gryffindor pillow was stained a dark burgundy from the pool of wetness. He had never had reason to cry so heavily at Hogwarts before, and to do so now felt like a contamination, cold hands reaching out from his past to seize him and snatch him away from a present he had already begun to take for granted. How close he was to being expelled-- or if not expelled, simply brought home by a father unwilling to let him make the mistake that _would_ expel him. How close he was to losing everything.

When the first wave of emotion had passed, he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, letting the tears swim in his eyes so his vision blurred. He rotated his wand slowly using the fingers of only one hand, pondering the oft-common theoretical paradox Hogwarts students discussed but professors refused to answer, the question of whether it was possible for a wizard to commit suicide with his own wand. And if not his wand, then what? He could break the tower window and throw himself out, transfigure a bedsheet into a rope to hang himself from the rafters, or drown himself in the adjoining toilet. His mind drifted lazily around the room, attaching itself to objects and assessing their deadly uses.

It was far from the first time he had had these thoughts. It had taken his parents years to take it seriously, and even then they insistently simplified it as a chemical side effect of lycanthropy or roaming Dementors in the area, but Remus had been fantasizing about suicide practically since the day he’d been bitten. At barely five years old he had been conscious that his life and future as he had known it had disintegrated, as his life locked into monthly cycles marked by agonizing transformations, full of experimental potions and being kept hidden in constantly-changing homes with no foreseeable end. He deduced quickly from his father’s refusal to take him to St. Mungo’s and hushed discussion of the Werewolf Registry that he was part beast and thus something less than a person. What was death if he didn’t have a future anyway?

Though his circumstances had changed, by now his death fantasies had become a kind of habit, something he came back to easily any time he met with severe disappointment, rejection, or loneliness-- not just around full moon. His parents and friends would never understand, but he found it strangely soothing remind himself that all of the shame and isolation he had ever felt could be gone in a moment.

The only trouble was now he had more to live for than ever. And as if to remind him of this, right on cue he heard the ruckus of his three roommates on the stairs.

He sat bolt upright, kicking himself inwardly for his premature emotional release when it was still the weekend and he should have known they could be back anytime. He should have waited a few more hours until past nightfall, or gone to the showers and run the hot water to cry as his tears were washed away. He sniffled and rubbing his eyes uselessly to try to disguise that he had been crying, but he knew it would be obvious anyway. The only way he could think to hide in time was to throw the covers over himself in fakery of a post-moon nap. 

He heard them enter and observe the tell-tale lump in his bed. Sirius spoke first, and loudly, completely disregarding that he might _actually_ need a nap. “Moony! We didn’t see you all morning, and as soon as we go down the hospital wing to check, you’re up here. Sneaky, mate.”

Remus faked a waking-up yawn through the duvet. “You should get to work finishing that map, then,” he teased, wishing his voice didn’t croak so much. “Maybe then you could keep up.”

Sirius shoved him gently through the bedclothes, then sat heavily on the end of his bed, purposely trying to jostle him.    
“Did you hear we won the match?” James asked, undoubtedly thrilled there was still one more person with which he could relive his victory.

“I saw!” Remus replied, his voice brighter but still muffled by the blankets. “Didn’t Sirius and Peter tell you? I stayed until the Snitch was caught.”

“It was brilliant James!” Peter congratulated him again. If Remus couldn’t scratch the itch, Peter would dutifully feed James’ ego for at least the next couple of days. “Moony wouldn’t have missed it for anything!”

“I thought you were supposed to be in the Shack by 3:00?” James asked. He wasn’t accusatory, just curious, but Remus bristled with embarrassment and a little irritation that even in the midst of the match James had kept better watch of the time than he had. “It was nearly sundown when we won. I bet Pomfrey wasn’t too happy about it, was she?” He laughed as if her disapproval were a joke.

Remus did not respond in time; there was a pregnant pause and instead of speaking, Remus only shuddered as he tried to keep a dry sob from bubbling up.

Sitting at the foot of his bed, Sirius was close enough to recognize it for what it was. “Moony?” It only took a gentle yank to pull the covers back, revealing Remus’s tear-streaked face. Horror and embarrassed showed in Sirius’ face as he regretted humiliating him. “Moony, what’s wrong?”

Although the damage was done, Remus pulled the covers back to his chin. “It . . . it was a rough night in the Shack,” he started to explain feebly.

“Did you get in trouble for running late?” Peter asked with shocking accuracy, though he looked confused as to why this would cause such a response. Remus had the best track record for behavior of any of them but he wasn’t such a goody-goody as to cry over something as small as a detention or House points.

Remus looked around at his three friends carefully, not wanting to talk or think any more about it but knowing his friendship owed them honesty. “Well . . . yes," he confessed, unable to look them in the eye. "McGonagall gave me detention for the week a nd . . . and my dad asked her to ban me from Quidditch matches and Hogsmeade outings for the rest of the year as well.”

The three of them erupted at once.

Peter: “Just for running late?”

Sirius: “Your dad was here?”

James: “A ban on _Quidditch_? What is he, some kind of sadist?”

“Yes, my dad was here,” Remus sighed, answering the only question that hadn’t already been answered. His friends knew Hogwarts encouraged parents to let the school take care of things, especially given the complications of arranging a visit, but parents did sometimes make visits, usually for one of two occasions: severe injuries and severe trouble. James and Peter had never had the honor, but Sirius’s mother had made a couple visits once she realized Howlers were ineffective as discipline and only served to embarrass the family by broadcasting their firstborn son’s misdoings. Though according to Sirius, Professor McGonagall had even taken to lying to her about her availability, since she didn’t enjoy her visits any more than Sirius did.    
Sirius stared at him very hard. “And are you alright?” 

“Yes,” Remus replied, a little startled and confused by Sirius’s intensity. 

Sirius still looked suspicious. “What did he do to you?” 

Remus felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach when he realized what Sirius was implying. Sirius had said before that parents only came to Hogwarts for one of two things: to yell about things they were too embarrassed to say in a Howler-- or when they wanted to do something more than yell.

“Nothing. My dad—my dad’s not like that.” He couldn’t think of a better way to say that his father didn’t lay hands or wand on him, that he wasn’t at all like Sirius’s father. “He just sat in with McGonagall and me, while she assigned me detention, and he tacked on a couple of his own ideas.” 

James briefly tried to return the conversation to the most important topic in his world: “So you seriously can’t watch Quidditch? Can you _play_ Quidditch? Should I break someone’s arm and hold a mid-season tryout?”

“That’s not all of it. Remus, mate, you’re _crying._ What on earth did he say to you?” Sirius pressed, paying no mind to James.   
  
“James, you know I’d be no good at it,” Remus replied impatiently. His mind was on the skeptical look Sirius was giving him, which was making his heart thud more quickly against his chest. “What are you _getting_ at, Sirius?”

“I just mean you ran late, McGonagall gave you a detention and your dad tacked on a couple extras . . . and now for some reason you’re looking as if you want to turn your wand on yourself? It doesn’t add up.”

Remus tried his best not to react to the wand comment; surely Sirius just meant it as a figure of speech. “It adds up because it wasn’t _about_ running late. The only reason I can be at Hogwarts in the first place is with the understanding I’ll be safe away from other students during full moon. Otherwise, I’m a danger to everyone. I could have _killed_ someone. I could have killed the two of you," he looked desperately between them, "staying in the stands as long as I did."

“But you didn’t,” Peter shrugged.

“But I _could have_ ,” Remus insisted.

Sirius scoffed. “And I _could_ walk up to Snivellus next time I see him, hex him stupid, sever his head, and give it to Bellatrix for her birthday. I suppose someone should put me away in Azkaban right now, right? Just because I _could_?” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “People don’t get punished for things they _could_ do, Remus; just the things they _do_. That’s not good parenting, mate.”

It had taken a long time for Sirius to admit to the extent of his family’s cruelty, hiding his secret just as Remus had guarded his own. After only three years it was still difficult to accept the family that had, at least _seemingly_ , loved him as the son and heir now regarded him with disgust and shame that oozed through into their every interaction with him. What he revealed to his friends in pieces he spoke of with such a painful mix of bitterness, betrayal, embarrassment, and self-doubt that it never even occurred to them to doubt him or presume exaggeration. Now this boy who was regularly screamed at, shut in closets, hexed, beaten, deliberately humiliated in front of his brother and cousins-- was suggesting to Remus that _his_ father was abusive?

“There were still students out on the grounds when Madam Pomfrey and I were walking out the Willow,” Remus pointed out. “In the hospital wing, I almost transformed in front of her!”

“But you didn’t,” Peter pointed out again.

They were starting to make Remus angry. " _But I almost did._ And if it happens again, if Hogwarts doesn’t expel me, my dad will withdraw me just the same. And for good reason, it seems!”

“Yeah, don’t be daft, Sirius; it’s a bit higher stakes than for us,” James defended, apparently the only one who could see from Remus’s father’s perspective. “You can’t think it’s entirely unreasonable for his dad to have gotten a bit more upset about it than our parents would be.”

Sirius eyes flashed in irritation. Although James had since amended his perspective, Sirius had clearly not forgotten that the first time he had admitted to the extent of his parents’ punishments, fearing the eve of Easter holiday after a hellish first Christmas home, that James’ advice had been to “Maybe try and be a little less difficult on purpose, and see if it helps?” James at barely 12 years old could not imagine beyond his own family, his tolerant parents who as far as Remus could tell barely so much as scolded him for anything, and the staunch sense of loyalty he felt to them. James’ instinct was still to assume parents were in the right.

“So Remus ran a couple minutes late, and suddenly his dad is threatening to take everything normal about his life away from him and that he’s as good as committed murder. Does that sound _reasonable_ to you? Does that sound fair? _We’ve_ done more actual _damage_ to people ten times over and I don’t think we’ve even gotten a full week detention.”

“Good thing we don’t have Remus’s dad, then,” James tried to laugh, though no one joined in, not even Peter.

Sirius shook his head. “Your dad has _really_ done a number on you, Remus.”

“You’ve never even met my father,” Remus snapped.

“I know all of those scars aren’t self-inflicted,” Sirius started, referring to the wounds Remus had casually admitted were accidental, incidental to the measures his father used to take to keep him confined and silent during transformation. “I know he was so paranoid about people finding out that you couldn’t even have a remotely normal childhood. And now I know that apparently his first reaction to even the slightest chance that someone might discover you is to drag you back into hiding-- your future and your sanity be damned. And honestly? That’s all I need to know.”

“What would you expect from him? What would _you_ have done in his position, trying to protect not only me but a non-magical wife?”

“At the very _least_ I’d trust you were safe once you were at Hogwarts. Does he really think that he was doing a better job of keeping you and your mother safe than the minds and power of Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey working together, at Hogwarts, the most secret wizarding location in Britain?” Sirius replied. “Could he be any more paranoid? It really begs the question if keeping you _safe_ is actually the point. Rather than just keeping you _hidden_.”

“The two go together,” Remus argued, eyes narrow.

“Greyback bit you in the first place because of your father’s open hostility towards werewolves,” Sirius continued. Remus bristled at ever having trusted him enough to confess to this, a confession his father himself had kept from him for years. “Do you think those kind of prejudices change overnight? Do you think he genuinely likes werewolves any better just because you’ve become one? The less of a problem your lycanthropy is for him, the better. He’s not hiding you just to protect you. He’s bloody _ashamed_ of you.”

Remus could not have felt a more cold shock if he had flung a bucket of icy water over him. His hands were shaking with an irresistible urge to lunge at Sirius and hurt him somehow, claw at his eyes or wrap his fingers around his neck, but luckily the rest of his body was completely limp. And yet the truth hung there in the air between them as if it had corporeal form. Remus could not immediately confirm that Sirius was lying. But he tried. “How _dare_ you. My parents have done everything to try to cure me!”

“Yes, to _cure_ you. Because they can’t stand you the way you are.” 

“Oh, right!” Remus did not expect to laugh in a discussion like this, but what Sirius had said was just so utterly ridiculous he couldn’t help it. He sounded maniacal. “I’m sure _acceptance_ would be the end of it! If we can all just happily accept I’m a werewolf, everything will be perfect! I’ll just walk into the Great Hall right now, ‘Top of the morning! I’m a werewolf, how do you do?’ and everyone will just give me a big old pat on the back, right?”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed but his lips remained pressed together in silence. Remus sucked in a restorative breath and continued earnestly. “You just don’t understand, Sirius. The smallest mistake and my entire life could be ruined. At least my dad knows that-- and he knows that only way to protect me to make _sure_ that never happens.”

“You’ve been living in a prison all your life,” Sirius said very quietly. “It’s no wonder you can’t see past it.”

James and Peter had hung back from their exchange the moment Sirius had begun to accuse Remus’s father of the truly sinister, watching the words volley back and forth as if it were a sinister Quidditch match. But at this moment of chilling silence, James finally piped up lest this unpleasant conclusion drive an unpleasant wedge between them he and Peter would have to tiptoe around in the coming days.

“Well, ah, Remus is still at Hogwarts with us,” James pointed out awkwardly, “and he doesn’t have to see his father until Christmas, so . . . why don’t we get dinner or something?”

Peter’s stomach growled audibly in agreement.

“You can all go ahead,” Remus replied sullenly. He wasn’t in the mood to fake pleasantness with Sirius and in front of all the other students in the hall. Plus he was certain his face still carried traces of his grief from earlier, and he was exhausted to boot. “I’m not hungry and I need to take a shower before my detention—Madam Pomfrey’s orders,” he said, and he took his leave. He had already made enough mistakes for one weekend ignoring her instructions for the sake of his friends.


	4. Chapter 4

His first detention with Madam Pomfrey went about as well as a hospital wing detention could be expected to go. She didn’t even seem to hold any ill feelings, but a woman whose profession was to clean up after students’ stupid mistakes was surely was not one to hold grudges for long. However, she didn’t hold back in delegating to him the worst tasks of the night, including cleaning up several bucketfuls of vomited-up leeches-- the unfortunate result of a second year’s Charms homework gone wrong-- that took Remus a while to realize regenerated upon contact with water and did indeed crave human blood.

However, between the evening detention and his early first class of the next morning—as well as his own troubled mind—Remus did not get nearly enough restorative sleep to feel refreshed after the trials of the weekend. To compensate, at breakfast he let his tea brew until it was bitter as coffee and poured in enough sugar to outfit the entire table, then sucked the chocolate filling out of three pastries and left the rest behind.

“Post-moon cravings?” James asked, raising an eyebrow. Although Remus had not yet fully forgiven Sirius for the night before, they all sat together out of habit. James was clearly trying to act as normal.

“Well it is his ‘time of the month,’” Sirius smirked. He too was doing a good job of putting the night before behind him. “You should see Bellatrix on hers. I once saw her spread jam on a sausage for breakfast. Bloody repulsive.”

“Like she’s anything less than repulsive any other time of the month?” James sniffed.

“Sounds like a metaphor for what she _does_ during her time of the month,” Peter pointed out wryly, in rare form. It took a moment for the joke to sink in, but then Sirius and James met eyes and howled in laughter. “Ohhhhh!” James gave Peter a high-five. Remus had neither the energy to laugh nor roll his eyes, but smiled slightly and shook his head before taking another sip of tea.

All too soon it was time to head down to the dungeons for their morning Potions class. The pleasant weather of the weekend was long gone, replaced by a depressing icy rain, so the temperature fell dramatically as they headed into the stone chambers below ground.

The four of them were just setting up their equipment for the lesson, James pairing with Remus after a brief semi-silent spat with Sirius about how Remus surely wouldn’t _want_ to work with him that morning given the circumstances (which Remus pretended to ignore), when Slughorn arrived and removed his coat to hang over the chair behind his desk. His voice piped up from behind. “No point unpacking, Lupin. You’re wanted in Dumbledore’s office.”

“Now, sir?” Remus asked, pausing with cauldron in hand. Urgency was not a good sign.

Slughorn shrugged disaffectedly; he clearly had no interest in the matter. “As soon as I saw you, he said.”

Remus nodded and rose, quietly collecting his things so he could leave before being noticed by the other students setting up. Habit made him hyper-conscious of making his absences conspicuous. 

Making his way to the headmaster’s office, he couldn’t believe he felt more tired than the morning after full moon, but despite copious amounts of caffeine two sleepless nights compounded with so much running and stair-climbing over the past two days left him feeling as numb and detached as a ghost. At least the Headmaster’s Tower was bound to be warmer than the dungeons.

As he entered Dumbledore’s office, he was surprised to find it was not only not cold, but downright cozy. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace, and between all of the thick wood, tapestries, and well-stocked bookshelves the heat was reflected all over the room. Remus found himself relaxing in spite of himself, although he was certain this meeting would be anything but warm. Dumbledore sat at his desk writing, but rose when Remus entered. He didn’t look angry, but Remus did not want to get his hopes up. Like the warmth of the room it could all just be misleading.

“Ahh, Remus,” Dumbledore sighed. “I heard from McGonagall it was an eventful weekend. Alas, I was attending a conference at the Ministry and regret I was not here for it.” 

“You-- you shouldn’t have to be here for every full moon, sir,” Remus said, hanging his head. “It’s my fault it didn’t go as normal this time.”

“I was referring more to your father’s visit afterwards,” he replied, turning thoughtfully towards the fire. “Have no doubt, I trust McGonagall entirely to her duties as Head of House. But a Head of House has limits to her authority, and given the special circumstances of your enrollment and my role in them, I would have preferred to have been there.” 

Remus’s heart thudded so hard against his chest there was a slight choking sensation in his throat with each beat. Circumstances of enrollment . . . So his enrollment was indeed in question?

However, rather than announce what Remus thought was the inevitable threat of expulsion, he asked an unexpected question. “Do you think your father was too harsh with you?”

“No, sir,” Remus replied automatically, assuming this of course was the right answer.

Dumbledore frowned into the fire. “McGonagall was concerned that you might have left her office feeling unduly guilty, and at her report, I have my concerns as well. While it’s not place to override your father’s request to keep you from Quidditch games and Hogsmeade, I did want to check how you’re feeling. Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m alright,” Remus said quickly, hoping he was not being too brusque. But the unexpectedly kindly questions were unnerving him. “I mean . . . I’m disappointed in myself, but that’s my own fault.” 

Dumbledore only stared at him for a moment, and Remus tried to make sense of his penetrating gaze, which was not the anger or disappointment he expected—but something more like pity, or even sadness. 

It was an unnerving position to be in; Dumbledore should be the one angry at him, not Remus explaining to him why he deserved his anger. Uncomfortable with the silence, Remus spoke again. “He had every right to be angry with me. I’m lucky he didn’t pull me out of school then and there; it’d be no less than I deserved.”

“Do you believe it your father’s place to decide whether Hogwarts welcomes you?” Dumbledore asked, his voice light but the question provocative.

A wave of defensiveness rose up inside him just as it had the night before with Sirius, though as he was speaking with the Headmaster he had to watch himself. “Well, it’s his job to protect me-- whether that means hiding my secret from others or shielding others from me when I’m dangerous. I mean, his entire _life_ has been devoting to protecting me—and my mother, since she could never defend herself with magic like he can. Both of my parents tried _so hard_ to cure me-- and when they couldn’t, they sacrificed everything and devoted their entire _lives_ to keeping me safe.”

“There is not a doubt in my mind that your parents did everything they did for you with the best intentions and greatest love.” Dumbledore replied earnestly. He was so calm and matter-of-fact that Remus no doubt of his sincerity—and, after all, Dumbledore would have known Remus’s father in his own years at Hogwarts, in order to see him as more than what Sirius imagined as a bitter reflection of his own parents. “But their love had always made them very afraid for you. And in their fear, I wonder if they have made some mistakes.”

And the painful, awful truth was out again, hovering between them as it had before Sirius in their chambers. _“You’ve been living in a prison all your life.”_ Dumbledore’s eyes stared into his so powerfully, so sadly, that Remus wondered if he was invoking Legilimens and able to see the memories of his childhood that played out before him. The bitter and burning taste of experimental potions which had made him nauseous, exhausted, and manic, thinned out his hair in clumps, and broke him out in spots, but never lessened the misery of his transformations. Long nights shut up in cupboards and basements, his Silenced howls nonetheless tearing at his lupine lungs as he strained against confines of the charms and curses that bound him to a safety that was never quite enough and always seemed to injure him just as much as it protected. Tearful unsaid goodbyes as they departed yet another anonymous country village without a word to their neighbors, local children Remus had been forbidden from knowing intimately and yet had in his desperate loneliness had still sometimes thought of as friends.

Remus closed his eyes and shook his head to block out Dumbledore’s eyes and free himself from his own memories, conjuring up in their place the parents he held to be true, he _wanted_ to be true: a woman who was smart, sensitive, funny, and strong; a man who was almost always polite, pleasant, a little shy, and in many ways like Remus himself, a man only driven to temper when he was afraid and felt out of control. “How else were they supposed to contain a monster?”

“Remus,” Dumbledore’s voice truly scolded for the first time. “Do you truly believe you are a monster?” 

Remus squinted hard at the floor. “Once a month I am,” he said bitterly, unable to look into Dumbledore’s face.

“I mean _you_ , Remus Lupin, the person. The son of Lyall and Hope Lupin, the Hogwarts student, the Gryffindor, the boy who stands before me now.” 

He had never considered that this was something subject to his own opinion; monsters weren’t generally left in charge of deciding whether or not they were monsters. “I-I d-don’t know,” he stammered.

“Your classmates like you, Remus, as a loyal Housemate and dedicated friend,” Dumbledore said. “Your teachers respect you as a diligent student and competent young wizard. And I see nothing monstrous about you at all.”

Remus felt the color rising in his cheeks, embarrassed at these compliments he couldn’t truly believe he deserved—especially when this was supposed to be a lecture. Wasn’t it?

“But I’m still dangerous,” he said quietly.

“You speak as if a castle full of underage wizards _isn’t_ dangerous,” Dumbledore retorted, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Barely-trained wizards with their magic unmastered, playing out the drama of teenage emotions and hormones on one another with wands ready in their hands, in an ancient charmed castle next to a wood full of all manner of dangerous magical creatures. We have injuries by the week that put the Quidditch World Cup to shame.” His voice dropped to a somber tone.  “We have even had deaths. Believe you me, Remus; there have been far more dangerous wizards to walk these halls before you, and surely far more dangerous wizards to come after.”

A normal wizard might have felt slighted by the implication that he wasn’t the most powerful of all, but Remus breathed out a huge sigh—almost a sob—of relief.

“Do you know why you are at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked, his voice still light and questioning.

Remus blinked, unsure what exactly he meant by this question. “For my education, sirWith your permission, and the assumption I’m no threat to the other students.” 

“You seem to be under the assumption that your default state is to not be allowed to attend Hogwarts, but . . . you were born a wizard in Britain, and thus Hogwarts made note of your intended enrollment long before you were ever bitten. Your father starting making his own provisions for your education within months of your attack not because he denied your right to Hogwarts, but simply because he feared _we_ would. Your mother, too; I have never met a Muggle more well-versed in the theory of magic, who could have taught you the name and gesture for any charm, the ingredients of all your fathers’ potions-- everything shy of picking up a wand and casting charms herself. As for myself, as soon as I found out about the wizard child bitten by Greyback who would surely be a candidate at Hogwarts in a few years, I did everything in my power to ensure you received your proper Hogwarts education. I spoke with Madam Pomfrey at length about the concerns of caring for and concealing a werewolf at Hogwarts and she made exhaustive research to assured me it would be well within her power to do it. I spoke to each Head of House about the hypothetical possibility of werewolf student at Hogwarts to gauge their reaction should you have been Sorted into any of their Houses. Every one of them was sure that with the proper precautions, there was no reason for them to deny your entry or fail to assist in your protection; even Slughorn was _thrilled_ by the unique prospect of a lycanthropic student to potentially take under his tutelage. In the months before your arrival at Hogwarts, Hagrid made the complex arrangements for the transplant of a fully-grown Whomping Willow to conceal your path to transformation. And you remember I came personally to persuade your parents to allow you to attend.”

Remus could only stare at him, his jaw a little slack. He remembered of course Dumbledore’s visit-- the most important day of his life so far; how could he ever forgot?—and had always been aware of Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall’s role in concealing and protecting him. But with the full litany laid out before him, was stunned at the vastness of unrepayable debt he would owe all of these people forever. Even Slughorn, who had no idea that hypothetical student was currently a 3rd year Gryffindor with middling grades in his Potions class. 

But Dumbledore hadn’t meant to burden him; he peered over his half-moon glasses and smiled. “You see, every single one of us wanted you here so badly, and every single one of us still does. You are a student here by the same birthright of every other magical child in Britain. You are here because you are meant to be here, Remus. You belong at Hogwarts. You are no less welcome here than any of us.”

Remus hadn’t even realized tears were streaming down his face until a sudden sob rose up and he was forced to inhale an undignified amount of snot.

“But, all wizards and witches at Hogwarts have many things to learn,” Dumbledore continued, “and you are no exception. And I’m afraid some of the most important and useful skills you will learn here is simply how to survive in this world as you are. As we both know, you _do_ have to take extra precautions your classmates do not need to worry about, and to live on schedule with the moon regardless of how it interferes with the rest of your life. I expect that over this weekend you have learned this lesson. But I see absolutely no reason to ruin your life over what was truly a harmless mistake. And I hope you will see it as that: a mistake, and something to learn from—not something to destroy yourself over.”

“Thank you, sir,” Remus replied, nodding slightly. Between his father’s exaggerated sense of devastation and Sirius’s categorical insistence that he had done nothing wrong at all, Dumbledore’s perspective was the first that truly made sense.

“However, I do have one requirement of you from here,” Dumbledore added.

“Sir?” Remus asked, raising his eyebrows it was yet another punishment meant to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation.

“I am confining you to your dormitory until noon,” Dumbledore said. “You’re to return there immediately after we are done speaking, and I absolutely _require_ you to take a very long nap.” He smiled. “You’re pale enough to be mistaken as one of our resident ghosts! I will let Professor Slughorn know you are excused from today’s lesson.”

Though he felt foolish laughing with the tracks of tears still clear on his face, Remus overflowed with joy and relief. No more desirable detention had ever been ordered.


	5. Chapter 5

Remus obeyed Dumbledore’s instructions to the letter and returned to the Gryffindor Tower, where his own bed seemed to have transformed in the hours since he had woken from the stifling hot den of sleepless guilt to a deliciously cool and comfortable respite from his own mind. Just as Dumbledore recommended, he slept away the entire morning.

However, he couldn’t sleep perpetually, and by mid-afternoon he could no longer stand to stay in bed. He had hoped that his friends might have stopped back up over lunch once they noticed he wasn’t in class, but between the fight the day before and his strange mood in the morning they must have felt it was best to leave him alone. He felt a little hurt but pulled out his Potions textbook to start reviewing the material he missed that morning to distract himself. With his second detention that evening, he wouldn’t have much time for it otherwise.

The sun was low in the sky by the time he heard his friends on the stairs. Prepared to be miffed at the afternoon they passed without him, he was surprised at how eagerly they burst in, grinning and clearly brimming with news. “Moony, we have something to show you!” James announced.

James and Sirius had their tell-tale look of having made a particularly impressive plan, and Peter was beside himself, grinning hugely and hopping from foot to foot so that Remus was half-tempted to ask if he needed the bathroom. James pulled out a ratty-covered old book from his bag and held it out towards Remus.

“From the Restricted section,” he said proudly, eyes aglow.

“Oh James, it’s not dirty pictures of veela again, is it?” Remus asked, unable to read the faded title. 

Sirius snorted as James looked a little insulted. Hadn’t they all enjoyed that one? “No! Moony . . . Moony, this is the answer.”

“The answer?” Remus asked. What was the question?

“The answer to how we’re going to make sure you’re not lonely on full moon anymore,” James explained as if it were obvious, or at least something they had been pondering for a long time. Had it been?

Finally, unable to contain himself as James continued his interminable buildup, Sirius announced: “We’re going to become Animagi!”

There was a pause as Remus tried to make sense of this. “You mean, like McGonagall?” he asked. “I thought she was born that way?”

James gave Sirius an irritated look for stealing his thunder. “It’s a process,” he explained. “A long and complicated one. But not impossible. And we’re going to read this to figure out how to do it.” He held up the book.

“Of course, we’ll have to cross-check a couple other sources before we go through with anything,” Sirius assured him. Remus doubted he had heard the likes of “cross-check” and “sources” ever come out of Sirius’s mouth before; Sirius was about as enthused about book-study as he was his eldest cousin, much more devoted to the method of Just Try It-- And If It Doesn’t Work, Try To Fix It. But he looked serious about doing this correctly. “And we’re going to have to learn a lot of complicated techniques, some things I don’t think we’re supposed to learn until NEWT level, if they even teach it at Hogwarts at all.”   
“So . . . we’re not going to be ready by next month or anything,” James said with disappointment, as if there had even for a moment been an expectation of this possibility. “But we’ll start tonight, by reading this.”

“Do you know what form you’ll take?” Remus asked.

“No. We don’t choose,” James explained. “It’s like a Patronus; the form it takes is based on who you are.”

“But it doesn’t ever change once it’s been decided. It’s more like your wand; it chooses you,” Sirius added.

“But we already know if we’re in our animal forms, you won’t attack us, so it’s perfectly safe. Werewolves only crave _human_ blood,” Peter explained, trying to sound as informed as the other two, though this information was readily available in their schoolbooks and something Remus had told him countless times before.

Remus’s mind whirled with this new information. It was so much to soak in all at once, so many questions to ask, but there was one thing he knew with absolute clarify: his friends hadn’t been ignoring him at all, but scouring the library and plotting their life-changing plan, something that would exhaust unforeseeable amounts of time and energy and burden them with the secrecy of illegal magical for life—all for Remus. 

He thought he might cry-- he had spent so much of the past two days crying, it was practically as automatic as breathing by now—but instead, out came a laugh. He sounded like a mad person, collapsing into insane blissful cackles, but his friends surrounded him, embracing him to hold him up and laughing themselves. He couldn’t even bring himself to choke out a “thank you,” but he was certain the three of them already understood. He belonged at Hogwarts, he belonged with his friends, and for once he truly believed it.


End file.
